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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26476744">Demons Don't Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersianPenName/pseuds/PersianPenName'>PersianPenName</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Random GOmens One-Shot Scenes [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abel dies, Gen, Grief, I didn't feel like it merited a 'major character death' warning but did want to warn you?, I feel like that's not a spoiler for anything at this point, It's off-screen but referenced, Mourning, The ineffables really had no idea what this whole death thing was going to be like, burial</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:49:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26476744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersianPenName/pseuds/PersianPenName</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley buries Abel, but that doesn't mean he loved him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Random GOmens One-Shot Scenes [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Demons Don't Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first time they talk about it is over a grave. Aziraphale finds Crawley shoulders-deep, digging at the earth with a stick, knocking stones and soil onto stretched hide that he lifts and tilts to add to the pile just outside. A straight shape covered in cloth and flowers, youth-long, rests on fragrant branches still bleeding sap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had waited, this first time. They had lain Abel in his bed, bandaged his crushed head, and took turns sitting with him, even Crawley. Even Cain. This was the first time, they weren’t sure what was supposed to happen, what he would need when he woke up. It took three days, three days of waiting and worrying, of hoping, before his color began to turn and his body swelled with rot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Eve had cried, had railed, had screamed at God until She answered, adding a protection to Cain’s curse so that nothing could harm her other son, her only son. He wouldn’t stay, couldn’t, and she didn’t know if she could let him, but she needed to know that wherever he was, he was okay, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crawley had been tending the fields and the flocks while the humans mourned. When it was clear all that was left of Abel was soured meat, Crawley volunteered to take him away, to take care of him, to see to it that he would never be a feast for scavengers, and they had relented. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(They were so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>, hollowed out for all but tears)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was how the angel found him. Aziraphale, in his clean white robe, with his clean white hair and clean white nails, kneeling in the dust beside the grave and reaching to take the next load of earth from his sinner’s hands. They work for a while in silence. When he hits stone, Aziraphale stops him, takes the hand that is still pounding downwards with his stick, runs his soft thumbs over bleeding, dirty knuckles. He holds the body while Aziraphale spreads the boughs along the bottom, soft and deep, and doesn’t think of bright eyes and a dreamy smile, doesn’t think of small hands clutching at his knees as a slightly older boy pretends not to hear the giggling behind Crawley’s robe. Doesn’t think of quiet nights with a fussy babe, letting the parents sleep, doesn’t think of leaning in to inhale that oddly compelling new-human smell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abel had been the shepherd, not the gardener, but Crawley lays him down and covers him with soil as carefully as any precious seed. He goes gently, layer by layer, handfuls of red and yellow and black and grey, iron from the hearts of long-dead stars, and then there’s nothing but a soft mound and eternity stretching out before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” says Aziraphale softly. “I know how you loved him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crawley flinches at the word. “Don’t.” He’s unsure if it’s a plea or a denial. He stands, finally, when a soft wing begins to stretch towards him, unfolding his jackknife body with enough force that the angel pulls back. “Don’t. I don’t -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t -- demons. Can’t. Lost it, in the fall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale snorts in disbelief, mouth opening, about to speak.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Can’t, see?” He continues, cutting him off. “Can’t -- feel it.” His cheeks are wet. Is it raining? He doesn’t see any clouds. “It would be…  too much, if we could, yeah? Couldn’t -- couldn’t bear it.” The whole world feels like it’s trembling, shaking apart, or is that just him? “But here you are, and here I am. Bearing. So.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence stretches on, and he can feel blue eyes on him, feel soft hands wanting to reach out. He flicks a wrist and is clean and whole and dry, no more gravedust making his eyes water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think I’ll move on for a while,” he says, finally. “Keep an eye on the other one.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Aziraphale nods. “Stalking. That’s…  terribly demonic of you, I’m sure.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And you’ll… ?”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ll be here. I’ll watch over them.” The angel’s words are soft and quiet. It’s too much. He opens his wings, and is gone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one...  might come back on me. There could be other chapters living in there. We'll find out.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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